


I Had To (S)t(o)p The(n)

by EllenofX



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:09:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenofX/pseuds/EllenofX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man walks into a bar... The Bartender is on fire.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One Day T[he]y...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759959) by [EllenofX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenofX/pseuds/EllenofX). 



> This is more or less based on my other fiction "One Day T[he]y Just..." - An alternate version of characters and events, if you will. You won't be lost if you haven't read it, though... This is more or less a stand-alone.  
> Depending on how things go, I might end up making a large collection of fics like this once "One Day T[he]y Just" is done.  
> This one will not update very regularly, as it's schedule is determined by the passage of important points of my other fic.

The Man looked rough and ragged, like a doll left on the playground long ago. The bar was silent, the dogs who often sat behind him had stopped gossiping weeks ago. They weren't bad folks, just curious, and didn't realize that he was fluent in Pekingese, the native dog language. Still... It had been irritating to listen to them literally talk about him behind his back. A few of them had tried to interact with him. They'd been friendly enough, but...

The Man banished the thoughts with another hard swig of his drink. He tapped his empty glass on the counter, letting The Bartender know he was ready for another. Almost instantly, he heard a liquid pour into his glass, and as soon at the noise had stopped brought the glass back up to his lips - Only to sputter gracelessly in surprise.

"It's water," The elemental bartender said, "Normally I don't touch the stuff, but I'm making an exception for you."

"F̴̴̵̷ú̡͟͠ç̵̛k̛ ͏͢o̶̴͜f̵̵́f̶̀!̶̢̨" The Man said in response, then, "Can̡'̵t a͏nyo҉ne͞ ̢i͏n th҉i͞s ͠da̧mn͢ ́to̶w͟n st̸ay o̴ut̕ o͜f͏ my ͜b͠u҉síņe͘s͟s?̢ Jus͡t͢.̢.̡.̕ ̸P͞our me an҉o͡t̢he͘r."

"I'm afraid you've had enough. Besides, we're half an hour past closing..." The Bartender paused. In his head, he added the words "and you haven't paid your tab". Not that the tab mattered. The Bartender was more concerned over whether The Man had even noticed the other patrons leave. He didn't seem to, and in fact was now stretching as he cast a slightly taken aback gaze around the empty restaurant. "I was actually hoping I could have a talk with you."

The Man laughed. It sounded sour. "Abo͠u̕t͜ ̵wḩa̧t͢, ͡firem͝an͢?͡"

"I'm not normally someone who pries into another's personal life, but... You're not a native. I was talking to the Bunny family the other day, and they say that an outsider's been renting one of their rooms every night for a more then a month now, only they haven't paid since the first week. And in my bar, same thing seems to have happened... You just showed up one day and kept showing up. You don't talk to anyone except for me, and that's only to ask for another drink."

"Wh̨i̴c̢h ̛you'҉r̴e͘ not̸ ́g͘i̸ving͞ ͞me.͝" Gaster said, "Wh́at͠ m͜a̢ke̷s yo͟u̡ ̵think I̷'m ̧not ͢go͏i̷n͜g͞ ͞to ju͢s͠t ҉sta҉n͞d ́u͡p and̵ w҉alk out͢ th͘a̕t͢ doo͠r?"

"Well, you've stayed this long."

"So͡? ̡May͞b͝e my ļeg̴s aré ̛asl͘e҉ep." They were, actually, and the man took a moment to massage them. He'd been shifting in and out of consciousness for a while now, not that he was particularly drunk, he just... Didn't have anywhere else to be, and his legs had stiffened in his slumber.

"I think you need to talk." The Bartender said, "Believe it or not I'm a pretty good listener. Years of practice, you know?"

"Y͠ou h́o͝nestĺy ͝e̕xp͟e̴ct͜ me ju̶st ͢t̶o̕ s̀pi͠ll͢ ̨m̀y ͢gưts ̴t͢o ̶you?"

"No."

The Man sighed. This was frustrating. He really wanted another drink.

"Do y̵o҉u h̢ave ̶any̨ i̴d͟e̢a ẃh͞ó ̷I͝ u͘s͡ed̴ to͏ be?"

"Not really. The Guard said you worked with Asgore, though."

"Y̛eah, ́th́at's ̡aboùt҉ ri̢g͡h̵t," The Man said, "W̵òr̸kįn͟g ̕"wi̴th"͏ ̷him̸ is̕ à bi̶t͞ of ̸a m͠isnom̕er, t͞h̸oug͜h̸..͞.̶ ̕I͞ ̕ḑi̡d a̛ll t͜he͘ w̴or̵k̵. He͠ j̴ust ͢sa҉t̴ on ͝h͟i̛s͝ ̨t̨hr̵one̵,̴ dr͟a͝n̢k ͡te͘á, and ̨reg͢r̴etted̡."

"So now you're sitting here, drinking, and regretting?"

The Man Stiffened. "I͞ ̶g̨ues̀s ͜I͏ ̴am..͞. ̛I'̧m͟ a̛ ͏littl̢e su͜rp̷r̸i̛se̸d, tho̡u͡g̕h. Ņo̡ ̸c̛o̶m͡m͝enţ abo̕u͞t ͠m͠y di̕s͡respèct f̸or҉ t͟h̀e ̧ki̵ng?"

"Nah," The Bartender said, "I know exactly what you mean. Asgore's a good guy, even a good king most of the time, but it was always the queen who actually did things."

"Y͠ou,͞ ͢u͞m.̷.̵." The man said, intrigued, "W̷ork͟e͢d͝ ͝ẁi͠th̢ ̢h̛įm҉?͡"

"You could say that. It was a long time ago." The Bartender's voice crackled a little, somewhat like a chuckle, as he added, "Now all I do is stand here, serve drinks, and regret."

The Man scoffed. Then said, "Y͞ou̵ ̨me͏n͘ţiǫn͡e҉d̷ ̀th͡e͠ q͟ue͏ęn? I ̀though̷t͜ şhe ͟v͝ani͘şh̢e̷ḑ d̵eca̴d̡es͏ ҉a̕g̸ó.̧"

"Centuries, at this point."

"So҉ ̷y̶ou̷'͟r͏e̢-͡?̸"

"An elemental."

"F̛ascin̕atin̷g. I'd̵ ҉l̕ove ̀tơ loòk ̨at͢ ̕y͠ou'̶re ̛c̸o҉re͡ ̢s͜ome̷tim̵e,̷ se͢e ͞i҉t'͜s҉ ̢an͢y̷th̸in҉g li͟ke..͝.̨ W͢èl͠l͜,͢ th͞at d͡o̸e̶sn̕'t m̀a̧tt҉e͞r̕ ǹo͘w͢,̧ ̴d҉oeş ìt?"

"Excuse me?"

"T̨h͝ere̷'͜s ͠th̕i͡s̀ ͞ţh͜e͜o̧ry̧,̵" The Man started,"̨My p̴r̨e͞d̕e͘c͠e͠s̕s͢o͜r̀ d҉e͠velo͢ped̴ ͢it͏. ̀Bas̷íc̷al̢l͠y̕, ̛sh͝e̡ ͟t͢ho̡u͝g͜h̛t ́t͏ha͘t if ̶a̶n͡ ҉e̵lemental ͜li̶ved̶ l͞ong͢ ̸eno͢u͞g̶h̨, t̕h͘e͝n ͠th͠éir cor͘e mig͝h͡t̸ ̀c͏ǫnd̷e̸nse̷ int҉o͏ ̨a͞ p͟r̴ope͏r͝ ̷sou͜l l͞įk͏e ̵a ͢r̡éal món͏s̨t͡e̸r͜'s̸.͢"

The Bartender stiffened and The Man caught himself feeling slightly ashamed.

"O҉h,͏ ̕I'̸m so̶r̕ry͡.̢.͞. S̀h͜e̸ w̛as ͡an̢ o̕l͡d͝ ti͟me͟r,̛ ̷a͝nd̀ I ̛d̨idn̴'t ́mèa͡n҉ t͠o̵ ̴i̶m͘p̴l̢y͞ ̕-͟ ͢I̷ ju͟s̀t̶ - the ͡t́h́eor̸y i͝s.͢.." The Man fell let himself trail off. "Y̕e̡ah҉, s͢o̢r̨r̀y̸.͏"

"It's... Fine." The Bartender said, though his voice was strained. "I get the feeling you're one of the sciencey types?"

"I ͞tḩo̡u͜g̛h̴t y͜ou҉ ̴w̧e̶re ̴jok̕in̵g,͠ ͠b͞u͏t̶ ̧Í g͟uess̨ y̴o͠ú r̨e҉all̢y͝ d͡o̵n͝'͘t ͡hąve any͘ idea͠ wh̡o ̴I ̶a͡m, ̛do͜ ̶yo̷u?"

The Bartender shook his head.

The Man cracked up at this and reached out his hand, "W̢el͝l,̴ ̨n̨ice ̡to̶ ͟mee̴t͟ ͡yo͜u̡ t̛h͜en̨,̀ pa̢l҉.̶ ̶The ͟ńame҉'s ͟W. D.̨ Ga̡s̷ter,͝ ex-Roy̵a̷l S̕cie͟n͡t̡i̧st.҉"

The Bartender took the hand uncertainly, giving a quick but firm handshake. "Grillby."

"T̴h͝a͞t'̕s ͝it?̛ ͠G̕r̷il̷l̛by? You̸'͏re͡ no҉t̵ ̡goińg̨ to ͡telļ ͘me̕ ẃh҉a̶t ͘y̧o҉u͝ di̢d w̛it̛h͞ ̨Asg͟ore҉?̶" Gaster said, incredulous yet still oddly jovial. Grillby just shrugged.

"I̕'d͘ ̴t̢e̡ll͟ y͝o͞u͟ ͝t̷o ͠go͢ ҉b̧ưr̢n ͢i͠n h̡e͏ll,̵ ̨b͡ut that wou͢l͟d̕n̕'̢t͘ ҉c̸ha̛ng͞e͝ ͠much҉,̶ w͝ould ̕it҉?"

No answer. Grillby picked up a stray glass and started polishing it. Gaster sighed and grabbed his coat. "Ni̕c͏e̴ tál̸k͢ing͜ to ̨y̕ǫu͜,͟ ̵th̨en."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brimming glass. 8.39.446.7

The Bartender’s name is Grillby, but he has been called many things. He isn’t tall and he isn’t short, and when he’s nervous or nauseous or thoughtful or happy or sad, he tends to clean things. Because of this all of his glassware was in gleaming, perfect condition. He values his aesthetic out of necessity, and everything about The Bartender is in perfect condition.

The Man is not in perfect condition and he has no value for aesthetic. His face reminds one of fine china, his clothing of a beggar's rags. His name is Gaster, but he used to be The Royal Scientist. It was probably said like that, too, as if the job defined him. 

After their last conversation, he stayed away from The Bartender for a few days. It was longer then Grillby had expected, since he knew men like him couldn’t live without a stiff drink to help them sleep at night and the local shop owner didn’t sell any alcohol. Grillby knew why – her mother sat near the front of his establishment. She came every day, and many nights he had walked her home at closing as she slurred drunken pick-up lines based on his hotness.

Gaster lowered himself onto the barstool slowly, as if his legs were still giving him issues. Grillby wondered on that, but remained silent as The Man settled himself, staring at the elemental with contempt. In the minutes that passed, The Bartender took account of who was still in his bar. Just the drunk rabbit and two dogs flirting quietly in the back.

“W͏ha҉t ̀d͡o I ̕hav̵e ͠t͡ơ ̴d̸o ̡tǫ get ̸a͝ ̸drinķ a͏ro͜u͝nd́ hèr͜e?” The Man asked. There was no inflection in his voice.

“Ask nicely.” Grillby responded in an equally neutral tone.

A pause, then an almost desperate, “Pļeas̨e?”

“Alright, what do you want?” Gaster’s expression shifted to annoyance but Grillby ignored it, listing, “I’ve got water, sea tea, lemonade, spiders, soda-”

“S҉piders?” The man’s voice was honestly startled.

“Coming right up, one brimming glass of Spider Cider.”

“W͜ha͞t̶? N̨o,̡ ͡I̕ -”

But Grillby pushed his way to the back of the restaurant anyway. When he placed the mug in front of The Man, his eyes went wide and startled, and Grillby realized for the first time that his face wasn’t _supposed_ to look like that, because there was no musculature along the long, smooth cuts across The Man’s face that looked _right_. Then, to his authentic surprise, Gaster started laughing hysterically.

“Suŕf̡ace҉ s̡a̵k̀e,” he said after his initial fit, “Wh̶at ͏i҉n̢…҉”̷

The man _snorted_ and had to start over, “Whaţ ̵in͝ ͡ _blue blazes_ ar͡e y͟ou ͢try̕ìn͝g̵ to̴ pul̴l h̴er̢ȩ?̡”̧

“Nothing,” Grillby said, “You specifically asked for spiders.”

“W҉h̨er̵e͘ ͢d҉o ̀y̴oų evén _get_ s͟pįde҉r̡s?”

“Oh, you know.” Grillby said, “Any old bake sale. Little kid was selling some, actually, helping her parents out, I think. She was so cute I had to buy some.”

“L̸i͠ḱe͏ ̧ki͘d҉s,͟ ͢hu͟h̶?” The Man said, once again surprising the elemental.

“Sure,” He responded, “Who doesn’t?”

The Man fell completely silent. Reflexively, he grabbed the cup and brought it to his lips, trying to drown whatever thought he was having. Grillby had no doubt it was a learned, unintentional behavior as The Man’s eyes _flashed_ \- very literally – and he made a sudden noise of panic. It would’ve been funny to anyone not made of fire, but Grillby was too busy trying to get out of the splash zone, expecting The Man to spew. Instead, Gaster froze suddenly, and with perseverance that the elemental wasn’t sure he could replicate, swallowed.

“That good?” Grillby commented with a cross of satisfaction, mirth, and shame.

“Yo̶u͡ haveǹ’̢t͠ t̛a̷ste͞d ͏ýo͢ur o͜wn͜ damn̴ p͏ro̷d͢u͘cts?” The Man growled in reply, wiping his mouth with his sleeve in an overly dramatic manner as he glared fresh daggers at The Bartender.

“Elemental, remember.”

“R͝igh͢t …” Gaster sighed, his irritation seeming to dissipate slightly. He looked curiously looked at the mug, “I͠t͞’͟s͝ a͠ct̸ual̡l̵y͞ n͡ot͜ bad̷,͡ ̡I̡ ju҉st di̵dn’̴t͏ ̨i̴n̵te̕nd͝ ̧to dr͝ink ̕i͢t. ̷Wh͠y͞ t́h̵e͡ ͢h͝e̕ll͏ ̢di͢d ̴y̶o̡u̡ ́g̨i̕ve ͝m̴e̸ ͟t҉h͡is͜? ͏And̴ ̸don͡’t gi̴v́e ̧m͢e ͢t̀ḩa͟t͜ “̨I ̡as̕k̡ed͟ ̛f̶o̵r it̡” ͠shi͟t.”

“You’re a sciencey type.” Grillby responded, picking up a glass to polish it.

“Ok̕áy͢…͝?”

“You like the unusual.”

Gaster blinked and looked vaguely offended.

“I͞’͏m͠ ̡not͢ ҉p҉ayi̶ng҉ f̵òr̡ i̛t.”

Grillby’s turn to scoff, “You’re not paying for anything.”

Definitely offended now. Grillby couldn’t help but think he deserved it. Guy was a prick. A pitiable prick, but a prick nonetheless.

“S͡t̸i̧ll̴ ͟w̡an͡t ͢me̛ t͘ǫ ̷t͟a͜l͟k̛?”

“I don’t really care,” Grillby lied, “But I think you should.”

The Man was silent for a long, long time.

“So,̷ thȩn…” He said, “Wh͝at ar̵e҉ t͡h́e ̷c͠ha̢nces y͘o͜u͏’l̶l ̕se͞ll͝ me͟ ̷a ̨bott͡l͢e̕ ̧of v̸o͡dka̕?”

“Nonexistent.”

“A͘h̨.́ _Wonderful_ …” Gaster said, “Can I̕ ́g҉e̴t a̸ ̨sh̀ot̀, ͞then͜?͞

“Try two in the cider – the flavored stuff. After that, you’re done.”

“I̧ am̷,̴ hu̧h?͠”

“Yep.”

“I f͡i̕nd ͡mys͜el̴f wo͢n҉de͠ri̵n͘g͜ ͢o҉nc͟ȩ ag͘a̵in ̀h̡o͠w͏ y͢o͠u’͠v̵e ąrr͝i͠ved͏ to̷ thìs c̶onclus̷ion,̨ Sp͞arky͜.̛ C͘o̷ưld̴n’͡t͠ I̡ ̕j̡u҉st͏ go͘ so͞ḿe͠w̶her̵e͟ e͘lse͝?͝”

Grillby shrugged. “You’ve stayed this long.”


End file.
